Loup Garou
by NightWight300
Summary: Have you ever woken up to find yourself a murderer? Victoire has. Contracting lycanthropy through a dormant form in her father, against all known magical laws, she is hunted by muggles and the new all-things-anti-werewolf ministry after killing a young girl in the view of muggles whilst transformed. AU and will be a little bloody. Please R&R


**Introduction**

For one second she felt everything, the warmth of the sunlight on her face, the spring breeze harsh against her skin, the softness of the moss and the slight pain of the thorns on her left side. The unwelcome metallic tang in her mouth. The buzzing in her ears.

She rose with a start and a stifled scream, panting, dripping with sweat.

Dripping blood too.

So here she was again. Naked and stranded in the middle of a forest. Just like her dream. Except now she could stay in a state of denial no longer. It happened, it wasn't a dream, what was happening wasn't a dream, not this time or the time before that and the time before that also. Once sleepwalking, twice sleepwalking, but this time it was different. A metallic tang…

She drew her legs to her body, covering herself out of instinct and experienced the worst kind of pain. Her hands found her legs and they were encrusted in what her eyes confirmed to be blood. She propped herself up on the tree onto whose roots she had collapsed.

The dream, no, not a dream, was far removed from her normal recollection of night time wanderings. This time there were houses, a strong hatred on her part, shouts of men, the blare of a gun and the screams of child.

She turned her head, almost in a trance, knowing the dreadful thing she would she.

The mangled body of a girl, no more than six years of age, savage bites tearing her flesh at the chest and throat.

Victoire Weasley allowed a minute of silent sobs to consume her, rocking herself, wishing herself to be back in her mother's arms. Never in her life had she been so deep in so much self-hatred, or self-pity, for she knew what she was: a monster.

And, yet it was impossible

She had never been bitten. She had never even been scratched. The new pro pure-blood government had eradicated the countries werewolf population. Her dad had received multiple ministry checks even though he was attacked by one in human form. She couldn't be infected unless somehow her father's share of the disease had lain dormant and she had received…

No. It was impossible. All magical learning ruled against it. But what other explanation was there for the corpse beside her, lying sweet as an angel in a pool of its own blood.

The muggles saw her. They shouted after her. One of them shot at her, obliterating a garden fence and landing a large splinter in her leg. They would want answers. "Wolf of mystery origin kills child". The ministry would know. Everybody would know. They would hunt her, muggle and wizard.

She pulled herself up and limped around until she found a puddle to wash the blood from her mouth and leg. She was filthy and would need to clean herself all over not to attract eyes, but soon the police wound sweep the forest, and as soon as they had done, the Aurors.

The water was disgusting to taste but anything was better than the sharp bitterness of blood. Cleaning her leg revealed a horrible wound, probably infected already, but it wasn't the first thing on her mind.

As soon as her appearance would not have people calling 999 on sight, she limped roughly towards where she remembered the town she had entered that night, purposely askew to miss the place where chase had ensued, the fence had been shattered and a young live had faded into nothing.

She would need clothes. Luckily for her, she came to where the woods met the fences of some suburban back gardens. She walked along the line until she found one with a washing line close enough for her to pull a few items off. A large man's t-shirt, a prim business skirt, black knee socks. Hopefully they would disguise her wound and her dirtiness a little, and help cover her lack of shoes until she managed to find some. A long brown cardigan. It would do.

She would need a wand; she stood no chance against the ministry without one that would have her soul swallowed within the week. She should leave Britain, leave Europe if she could. And that's when it struck her.

She would never see her family again.

It ran hollower than she thought it would. That is one thing they say about werewolves. They are wired to survive.

**xXx**

**Hello, wrote this on a whim, hope you enjoyed the beginning of my story, please review if you would like me to continue. Thank you for your time ****J**


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